Only When I Sleep
by LiteratiAngel
Summary: The sun through my window is too hot. Philadelphia is baking today and sleep is impossible. It suits me fine-I don’t want to sleep. Closing my eyes has been risky business for a while now. Lit. Reviews are love! That's right people...It's BACK!
1. Dreaming in Colours

**Only When I Sleep**

**Disclaimer: Ha! I wish!**

**Disclaimer Take Two: I don't own Two Headed Boy Part Two, it belongs to the incomparable Jeff Magnum and Neutral Milk Hotel.  
**

**A/N: I was listening to Two Headed Boy Part Two and I heard the section below and behold, this fic was born! Basically, Jess and Rory's love lives consist of a string of respective look-a-likes but there is no real satisfaction for them until they fall asleep and they can dream about the relationship they lost.**

**A/N Take Two: Hope you enjoy. Remember people, reviews are love!**

**..........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................  
**

_And in my dreams you're alive, and you're crying_

_As your mouth moves in mine, soft and sweet_

_Rings of flowers around your eyes, and I love you_

_For the rest of your life_

_**Two Headed Boy Part Two – Neutral Milk Hotel**_

~*~

Dreaming in Colours

_The sun is warm on my neck and I languish in the lazy heat. The weight beside me shifts slightly and she stretches, twining her fingers into my curls. The whole experience makes me feel sated._

_I look around slowly. The colours that surround our little haven seem accentuated. Bright and bold. Confident with the surety of existence and my acknowledgement. The leaves have never looked so green and the water below our bridge glistens with diamond precision, as if nature itself is combining its forces to make this moment even more perfect._

_A yawn escapes her and I turn to take in the sight of her. She meets my eyes, her long red-brown hair flying through my fingers like a waterfall with the slightest turn of her head. She is wearing her bridesmaid dress from Sookie's wedding and at once, the memory of her lips on mine under the shade of the Independence Inn's trees graces me with its presence, hanging in the air between us like a whispered promise. She begins to lean towards me, her cerulean eyes sparkling with soft tears. My lips crush against hers…_


	2. Mistaken Identity

Mistaken Identity

The sun through my window is too hot. Philadelphia is baking today and sleep is impossible. It suits me fine-I don't want to sleep. Closing my eyes has been risky business for a while now.

My whole body is caked in sweat and I twist around in a vain attempt to find the comfort that eludes me. Instead, I find knotted sheets and a rumpled-looking brunette. I let my mind run through a play-by-play of the previous evening and remember drinking like there was no tomorrow and the intoxicated butterfly kisses of the girl next to me-whose name escapes me for now.

Coffee would usually be a good excuse now but since the humidity relieves all need for hot liquids, I settle for reading a Kerouac novel and try to distract myself from the possible disaster awaiting me.

I don't have to wait for too long. Half an hour passes and then she stirs beside me. Stretching, she pushes her tousled curls out of her face and blinks up at me. Her eyes are a cerulean shade of blue.

But her face is wrong. It's oval and her nose is too long. She is not the girl of my earlier dreams…of my memories.

Her nose is wrinkled in confusion, seemingly combing through her own play-by-play of the previous evening, working out where I fitted in. Apparently I wasn't the only one hitting the liquor bottle last night so I decide to be a 'gentleman' and make her feel a little less guilty.

"_So…um, I'm having a little trouble placing you. You got a name?"_

"_Don't worry about it. I'm having the same problem. I'm Gwennie." _

I catch a distinct New York twang in her voice and instantly feel at home. I know I shouldn't get too familiar with her because-since I've managed to ascertain that I'm in my own room-she'll be kicked out pretty soon, but psychosis 101 is winning the battle over common sense and I need to keep the…'clone'…talking.

"_Jess."_

"_Well, it's um, nice to meet you, Jess."_

"_Didn't you kinda, uh, meet me last night?" _ It's a vain-and rather crude-attempt to relieve the awkwardness of the situation.

_"Kudos for the innuendo there but I meant nice to meet you while we're both compos mentis."_ Huh.

The silence drags in the stuffy room, encircling us. The resemblance is too real, too fresh for me to think of a witty response…or any sort of response, for that matter. Eventually, she breaks the wall of silence.

_"So…who's Rory?"_

The name tugs at my heart. I struggle to breathe for a few seconds and then, finally, I find some self-control.

_"Huh?"_ I'm hoping that my seeming confusion will be enough to throw her off the scent. It isn't.

_"Well, I don't remember much about last night but I know I could still remember my name and I'm pretty sure I didn't change it to Rory."_

Snatches of blurred memories swirl in my mind. A tangle of limbs, nails digging into my back, distorted thoughts, unable to focus on anything substantial and a name-her name-on my lips. _Rory. Oh god, Rory._

_"Yeah…sorry about that…she's, uh…well, she's…"_


	3. Forbidden Fruits

Forbidden Fruits

_"An old flame?"_

I'm grateful for the get-out that she is so blatantly providing for me.

_"Yeah…So, how about you, what are you in Philly for? Business or pleasure?"_ Ok, so I'm feeling a little full of myself right now.

_"Well if you weren't being so damn cocky, I'd go for the latter option but since you are, I'll just have to tell the truth and go with 'business'."_

_"Huh. What do you do?"_ I'm genuinely curious, despite my ulterior motives, but apparently this doesn't come across too well. I don't do sincere very often.

_"You can stop with the twenty questions, you know. I realise that I'm not being invited to meet the parents or whatever."_ She's more astute than I gave her credit for and she's-sarcastically-hit the nail so precisely on the head that I almost feel guilty.

_"No, really. I'm interested."_

_"I'm a journalist, ok? Feel less guilty now?"_ The guilt is replaced by the breathlessness that plagued me earlier. _Journalist. Journalist. Journalist._ The word runs through my mind repeatedly. Like a promise. Like a curse.

When I regain my senses, I struggle to find the words with which to continue our conversation but it doesn't matter because she's already clambering out of bed, endeavouring to locate her clothes. I take a few seconds to appraise her and inwardly congratulate myself for my impeccable taste, even while smashed.

Once she has collected her underwear and peeled her dress off the lampshade, I direct her to the shower and settle back down to my book, wondering just how disappointed she would be if I didn't ask her out to dinner and savouring the memories of the previous night, which are gradually creeping back to me.

…

She comes into the kitchen as I'm making breakfast. She's wearing her short black dress from last night and her hair is piled up on her head. My mind goes blank as she slinks sexily up to the counter. She's kidding around but I'm having trouble forming articulate thoughts and find myself asking her to dinner. She doesn't give me the reaction I'm expecting.

_"Oh…um, that's sweet, Jess but I can't…"_

_"You leaving today?"_ Being rejected doesn't usually happen to me so I'm trying to think of a plausible excuse to save my deflated ego.

_"No, although since I'm seriously considering your offer, I really should do."_

_"Ok…"_ Her comment doesn't make any sense to me but I don't want to show it.

_"I'm engaged."_ Shit.

_"Oh. Right."_ God, I knew last night was a mistake but this takes the piss!

_"Sorry. I guess I should've told you last night but everything happened so fast and, well, I wasn't exactly in a position to string any coherent sentences together considering the amount of alcohol I'd drunk…"_

_"No, that's fine, really. Makes things easier, to be honest."_

_"I'm sorry, Jess. You seem like a nice guy but I genuinely don't think it's a good idea for us to have dinner together."_ She doesn't seem to understand that I get the picture.

She spots the picture on my fridge. No one's ever stayed here long enough to see it before. I've had a string of blue-eyed brunettes in my apartment for months. All pretty girls but never substantial-they all had a certain flighty, Shane-like quality-but this time, it seems I've got more than I bargained for.

_"So, is this Rory?"_

I force myself to look at the picture. Ok, so it's on my fridge and I use my fridge every day but I never look at the picture that adorns it. It's a masochistic safety net that I avoid at all costs. I think Luke must've taken it 'cause we're stood outside the diner. She's wearing her Chilton uniform, a woolly hat, scarf and gloves, all in pale blue. Her face is red from the cold and she looks shy but she's grinning beautifully. There's snow in her hair. My face is half-hidden from the camera because I'm kissing her cheek. I can't see my expression, as it's turned away, into her face, but I can see the curve of my mouth and know that I'm smiling.

_"Yeah. That's her."_ I still can't bring myself to say her name.

_"You look happy."_

_"Guess I do."_ I'm not comfortable discussing it with a relative stranger but I concede her this.

_"Well, as I said before, nice to meet you, Jess. I'd better get going."_

_"Sure, I guess. Here, take something to eat."_ I hand her a piece of toast as she picks up her purse and heads to the door. I watch her as she walks into the hallway and towards the stairs. Before she leaves, she whips around.

_"Jess?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I hope you find her again."_ She looks at me almost pityingly.

_"Thanks, but I don't think so. Closed book." _I don't need to open that wound again.

_"Sure, whatever. Bye."_

With that, she turns her back and walks away. All I can hear is her heels clicking against the metal stairs.


	4. Dreaming in Monochrome

Dreaming in Monochrome

_The icy wind whips around my body and I shiver into the warmth of his arms. His hands stroke my back lightly, as if afraid that he will break me. I feel secure against his chest._

_I look up at him. In the dazzling white light, we appear to be made of porcelain. But that is because there is no nuance of colour surrounding us. Snow falls around us in the darkness, immaterial flakes of icy water swirling in the black night._

_The whole scene is monochrome, black and white. Like a reel of old film that I am reliving. Like a treasured book that I am re-reading. Somewhere in the midst of the grey vista, the memory of his lips under mine under the shade of the Independence Inn's trees graces me with its presence, hanging in the air between us like a whispered promise. He begins to lean towards me, his intense brown eyes boring into me. My lips crush against his…_


	5. Ghosts

Ghosts

The room is too cold. New York is freezing today and sleep is impossible. It suits me fine-I don't want to sleep. Closing my eyes has been risky business for a while now.

My teeth chatter incessantly and I turn over, trying to wrap the covers around myself in a vain attempt to find some elusive warmth. Instead I find that the duvet is cocooned around a sleeping figure. His face is buried into the pillow, his arm flung casually over his head to block out the weak light.

All I can see is unkempt dark curls and muscular olive-skinned shoulders. I can't see his face, but I can imagine a smirk plastered across it and dark brown eyes alight with mischief. I can't bring myself to think about…him…but even so, my memory betrays me and flashes of him dance in front of my eyes. Ghosts of memories.

I have no recollection of the previous night so I lift the covers as quickly as I dare and take a swift peek at myself. Nope. No clothes. Shit. It's then that I notice the bottles of vodka that are strewn carelessly across the floor. My eyes drift to take in my skirt on the lampshade, his pants (presumably) on the chair, my bra on top of the door-how the hell it got there, I'll never know-and his shirt on the dresser. It seems that last night was interesting.

Usually, if I wake up this early (the clock next to me says 6:30 am-I didn't know they had one of those in the morning too!), I grab a book and settle down to read but with the combination of my splitting headache and the mystery man next to me, I decide it's probably a good idea to go and get some coffee and tacos 'cause hangover food is a must right now.

Shivering uncontrollably, I begin to get out of bed and then I finally realise that unless I find a helpful blueprint map of this apartment, there's no getting to the coffee 'cause I don't know my way around. I don't live here! Not only did I let myself get beyond wasted last night and ended up going home with some random stranger (who might not be quite so random, or a stranger but we'll cross that potentially catastrophic bridge when we come to it…) but I also didn't go to my own home! I don't know where I am!

I sink back down onto the bed and as the springs dip to accommodate me, my Mystery Man stirs and rubs his eyes. I can finally see his face.

_"Woah."_ I sound almost disgusted but it's more disappointment.

_"What?"_ Oh god, he even _sounds_ like him!

_"Sorry…you're just…not who I was expecting."_

He looks at me properly for the first time and a horrified look crosses his face.

_"Neither are you."_


	6. Monosyllables

**A/N: Yes, I am indeed a Torchwood fan but my invented characters in this fic are no affiliation with Gwen Cooper and Owen Harper because they belong to RTD and they're off fighting aliens on a rift in space and time in Cardiff!**

**...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................  
**

Monosyllables

He's looking at me with a puzzled expression, tracing his eyes across my face, as if assessing me. I shift uncomfortably underneath his scrutiny-I never did like being the centre of attention. Finally, he lifts his head slightly and addresses me.

_"So there's no chance that your name is Gwennie and you've got an engagement ring on your left hand, then?"_

His comment confuses me but I guess that this Gwennie girl must be who he thought he was going home with last night.

_"Um…no. Sorry."_ I grin sheepishly.

_"Huh."_

At the sound of this one insignificant syllable, my heart races and my breath escapes me with a quiet guttural moan. It sounded so familiar to me, that one, tiny disinterested syllable. It feels like my heart is being ripped out. It feels like going home.

_"You got a name?"_

_"Rory. You?"_

_"Owen."_ Well, at least it doesn't begin with a 'J'.

_"So, um…we're still in New York, right?"_ I begin to panic. Obviously.

_"Yeah."_

_"Oh thank god! So…um…do you like living in the 'Big Apple', then?"_

He scoffs at me when I refer to the city by its nickname and a vision of pleats and plaster casts flashes in front of my eyes, leaving the faint smell of hot dogs plugging my nose.

_"Sure."_

Apparently, the verbal thing isn't really his forte. How ironic. Still, it provides me with an excuse to haul out my rusty monosyllabic communication skills.

His eyes are exactly the same shade of brown. Suddenly full sentences are overrated.

_"Huh. Guess I'd better get going, anyway."_ Don't need to add being fired to top off such a fun-packed morning. It would just be the icing on the cake.

_"Where do you live?"_

_"Not…entirely sure right now…"_ It's true. I have no idea where I am and the hangover sure isn't helping me to find my bearings.

_"Right."_

_"New York. Definitely New York. But where in New York is an entirely different matter."_

_"Great."_

_"Sorry. Do you have coffee anywhere? I don't function without caffeine…it's that wonderful legal drug that tells my brain to flip the on-switch and get the cranial juices flowing…oh god. Did I really just say that? Well, hey, point the way to the coffee and the insane rambling is right out of the window…"_

I'm pretty sure that an inane, possible maniacal grin is decorating my face right now. He looks kinda worried, possibly about my sanity, or his life, but he gestures in a general direction, which I assume is my invitation to start the coffee hunt so I leap off the bed in a homage to Road Runner, just in case he changes his mind.

As I'm ransacking the cupboards, he makes his casual entrance and watches me, a-I take a deep breath before I think it-_smirk_ plastered across his face. It's wrong though. It's straight rather than crooked and there is no fluttering in my stomach, no racing heartbeat.

_"Jeez, you're just like my fiancée!" _And then he laughs and I break.

In truth, it's not this stranger's laugh which breaks me, it's _his_ laugh. Heard so rarely but the most beautiful sound in my tiny little world.

…

I finally managed to remember my address and my Mystery Man walked me home. So here I am. Stood in my kitchen, munching on a Pop Tart. As I chew and swallow meticulously, trying desperately to keep myself occupied, my eyes wander to the fridge door. There, in pride of place, is a photo but it's not of Dean, or Logan, it's him. _Jess._ Him.

I'm pretty sure that Luke must've taken it 'cause we're stood outside the diner. It must be summer 'cause the sun is shining and the leaves are an intense shade of green. His arm is around my waist, pulling me to him in that wonderful protective way that he does so well, so naturally. The smile on my face as I lean my head against his shoulder couldn't be manipulated or fabricated. It's pure, unadulterated joy. _Love _has that effect.


	7. Dreaming of Memories

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Howl", it belongs to Allen Ginsberg. I also don't own "Oliver Twist", it belongs to Charles Dickens. The 'Dodger' reference is ASP's of course!**

**...............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................**

Dreaming of Memories

_The stars sparkle shyly, veiled in cloud. Light glimmers softly all around us. The butter-soft pages of the text between us are like a symbol of a shared ideal. I've read all the Classics, I've soldiered on through books whose authors' names are unpronounceable and, although this particular volume stood out for me, it was never as special as it has become in this one moment._

_As I watch in awe, "Howl" transforms into "Oliver Twist", distorting from one literary genius to another. I would never have made this connection before now but here stands my reason. I casually hand the book back to her and the name 'Dodger' escapes from her mouth. This is my new identity. Somehow I feel it was my identity all along and it took this angelic girl to realise it for me._


	8. To Admit Or Not to Admit

To Admit or Not to Admit, That is the Question

I know he'll be waiting for me. Faithful puppy. Hmm, I call him that but that's not how it really is. I suppose I'd feel more justified if he was one of those clingy over-protective boyfriends, I mean, god knows I've been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, took it back to the shop and got my money back as soon as humanly possible. I don't do clingy, it's not me. Oh sure, when I was sixteen and I didn't know any better it was nice to have a guy fawning over me as if I was the only girl in the world but when I finally grew up, I realised that the world just isn't like that. At least, not for me, anyway.

He's not like a limpet. He's about as far away from that as you can get in a guy without being disinterested. He's protective when he needs to be but there's no marking his territory or anything ridiculous like that, we're equal partners in this relationship. But this morning, he'll be waiting, just like he promised because we're committed. I managed the impossible and finally tied him down to something more substantial than _"wherever, whatever"_ and the diamond sitting on my left hand is material proof of that.

So I'm not surprised when I elbow my way through the throng of people milling around the arrivals gate and find him lounging against a pillar with an arrogant smirk decorating his face. Still, seeing him makes the knife of guilt in my stomach dig in a little deeper. I throw myself into his arms and kiss him with as much passion as I can muster after a long week and a tedious flight but it feels fake to me, and I know he notices because he pulls away more quickly than usual. It's now or never, I guess, so I pull him along to the car and tell him to drive to our favourite coffee shop. A public place seems to be the best place to get this gnawing secret out in the open. Not that he'll cause a scene…but I might.

…

I sip my latte contemplatively. He's avoiding my gaze as I work out exactly how to phrase this.

_"So…um, you know how I was working in Philly this week, right?"_

_"Yeah…on account of the fact that I just picked you up from the airport…"_

_"Right. Of course. Stupid. Sorry."_

There's silence for a few minutes as I flounder for the words to complete my confession.

_"I slept with someone else."_

Woah. Did not see that one coming. He just looked me straight in the eye and told me that he cheated on me! How dare he!? Who does that bastard think he…oh crap, I forgot.

_"Me too."_

_"Huh."_

Just once I wish he could string a complete sentence together in a serious situation. Just _once_!

_"So where does that leave us?"_

_"Well I don't think it was a particularly long-term relationship or anything…she pulled a Speedy Gonzales getting out of the apartment."_

Our apartment. At least _I_ had the decency to wake up in someone else's!

_"He shouted out his ex-girlfriend's name during sex, I don't think we'll last too long either."_ The giggles that I've been unconsciously holding in since I left Jess' apartment escape me in a rush.

_"So what's the problem?"_ The smirk is back.

_"We slept with other people."_

_"Ok, if you want me to get territorial, give me the guy's name and I'll piss on you before I punch his lights out." _God I hate it when he gets cocky.

_"Conceited git."_

_"Fine, I'll skip the punching and move onto interrogation. Were you drunk?"_

_"I was knocking it back like it was coffee." _And since coffee is my life's blood, that equates to a hell of a lot of booze.

_"Well, that's something. Jeez! That hangover must have been immense!"_

_"Herds of elephants were stampeding across my head for the rest of the day."_ I wince at the memory.

_"Well then that's punishment enough."_

_"What about you? Blind rotten drunk or stone cold sober?"_

_"Well, let me put it this way…Metallica would've fitted right in and I think we need to hire a new maid."_ Somehow, finding out that he was drunk isn't making me feel any better about it…probably 'cause he just admitted to trashing our apartment.

I let the silence engulf us for a while and go back to concentrating on my latte. Finally, I hear myself whisper…

_"Was she prettier than me?" _God, I'm pathetic.

_"I thought she was you. What a shock I got when I woke up."_ He shudders at the memory.

The fact that she looks like me is disconcerting but now that I think about it, Jess looked a lot like Owen. It probably would have freaked me out sooner if my head wasn't splitting in two but as it happens, I've only just registered it.

_"What was her name?"_ I'm getting way too personal with the questions now but something in my subconscious is egging me on.

_"Um…Rory, I think."_

_"You're kidding, right?"_


	9. Hollow Assumptions

Hollow Assumptions

_"Um…no. Should I be?"_ The name of his not-so-clandestine one night stand strikes a chord in me as I remember Jess' pained face. I shake it away. The world isn't _that_ small.

_"Forget it. It's nothing."_

_"So…we're good, right?"_

_"Yeah. We're good."_ Just like that.

…

_"So remind me again why we're going to Connecticut?"_

_"'Cause we can't get married in New York. It's gotten tacky. This place is supposed to be beautiful."_

_"Yeah…and in the middle of nowhere."_

_"Well then, you'll get the low-key affair that you've been hankering for, won't you?"_

_"But…stuck in the middle of nowhere with your mother…"_ He actually sounds panicked.

_"She'll be busy with wedding stuff. Relax."_

_"I'm surprised that she has any time to do anything except setting darts on fire and throwing them at my picture."_ To say that he and my mother don't get on is a severe understatement.

_"Well it doesn't leave her a vast window of opportunity but I think she's ready to be weaned off the picture and try the real thing. Hope you've been practicing your stop, drop and roll recently, baby."_

_"Not even bordering on funny."_ He's verging on pouting.

_"Then stop making digs about my mother."_ He huffs but concedes defeat. I cheer silently.

_"Fine. Have you got the pictures for the reception slide show that you insisted on?"_

_"Yeah. Every one of them is a keeper. They're in my bag. Put them in order of favourites."_ He roots around, pulls out my filofax and starts sifting through the photographs.

_"Um…Gwen?"_ Uncertainty colours his voice.

_"Yeah?"_ I keep my face the picture of innocence. I know what he's found.

_"Sure they're all keepers? This is a picture of my naked butt._" I love it when I can make him blush.

_"Hmm…You're right. _That_ one's a screensaver."_ I smirk as we drive past the little town's welcome sign. It proudly proclaims…

_"Welcome to Stars Hollow"_

…

_"Coffeecoffeecoffee! I _need_ caffeine! If I don't see a cup of hot java in front of me in the next two seconds, I will drop dead from exhaustion and withdrawal symptoms!"_

The flannel-clad guy behind the counter gives me a strange look for a couple of seconds and then he turns to a woman at the counter, commenting…

_"I think we've found your kindred spirit. Maybe you should marry her instead."_

The woman turns to face me, her intensely blue eyes assessing me. Then she smiles and turns back to the proprietor as he hands me a cup of coffee and I drink greedily. Owen hides a smirk.

_"Not my type."_

_"Oh yeah?"_

_"No backwards baseball cap. You've gotta realise that it's the cap that does it for me. Plus you, my friend are the holder of the coffee and where would I be if I went off with someone else who didn't have the coffee? That would leave you broken hearted with the coffee and me feeling guilty and without the coffee…it would be Molly Ringwald giving her underwear to Anthony Michael Hall and he shows it to a roomful of boys who've all paid a dollar to see it…do you see where I'm going with this?"_ As she finishes her ramble, she inhales.

_"Sure, why not."_ He shakes his head at me despairingly.

The bell above the door jingles lightly and the coffee woman's face splits into a huge grin as she exclaims…

_"Ah, fruit of my loins! Welcome! Lukey! Get Rory some coffee, would you, doll?"_

_"Sure. Hey Rory."_

_"Rory?"_ I hear Owen query her.

_"Owen? Do you know…Oh my god…It's you!"_ Realisation slowly dawn as I deduct a couple of years and edit in a school uniform.

_"Oh dear."_ Her gaze is shifting between the two of us, obviously awkward for some reason.

_"You're Jess' Rory!"_

_"Jess?"_ They both look at me, equally puzzled.

As Owen continues to look quizzically at me, Rory steps forward.

_"You've seen Jess?"_ Her voice is tender as she says his name.

_"Yeah."_

She extends her hand and I grasp it, shaking carefully.

_"Rory Gilmore. And you are…?"_


	10. Dreaming of Reality

Dreaming of Reality

_His lips on mine taste of guilt. The room, which had been so spacious only moments before, is now hideously claustrophobic. His hand strokes across my knee lightly and lifts to caress my arm. Flashes of blonde hair and hazel eyes swim behind my closed eyelids. I can't let myself enjoy this. It's wrong._

_The expression on his handsome face is one of pain. I can see the hurt behind his eyes and I know that I've made a terrible mistake. I apologise and call myself a jerk, hoping that he will realise that I'm saying it because I know he can't. It's empty. Hollow excuses. Meaningless apologies._

_I can feel myself edging closer to the door. An escape route. I wish he was screaming. Instead, he's perfectly calm insisting that, "It is what it is. You. Me." Tears sting my eyes. I have to get out._

_We say our awkward goodbyes. This might be the last time I ever see him. I want it to be a bad dream that I could wake up from any second now. No such luck. I need time. We both do. We've changed too much._


	11. You've Got Mail

You've Got Mail

I hate that hope still consumes me every time I collect my mail. If she emailed, I'd see it immediately 'cause I'm always working on the computer. If she called, I'd hear it 'cause I practically live at the office. But if she wrote? It could be sat in my mailbox for months and I'd never know 'cause Matt and Chris aren't exactly the most reliable when it comes to checking the mail.

I quickly sift through the countless bills and there it is. Neat looping handwriting. _Jess Mariano, Truncheon Books._ This is it. It must be. I rip open the envelope desperately but its contents aren't what I was expecting.

Inside, there's an invitation. The fancy card gleams iridescently in the weak light of my foyer, its ostentatious gold lettering proudly inviting me to attend the wedding of Gwen Jones and Owen Thorne. I don't remember ever meeting this couple and I check the address to clarify. Nope, definitely for me. Huh.

There's a note attached to the corner in the same handwriting as the envelope. It simply reads…

_Jess,_

_You probably don't remember but I never forgot._

_Please come. I can't promise alcohol on the scale of our last meeting but it will certainly be worth your while if that photograph is still sitting on your fridge._

_Gwennie_

Huh. Realisation dawns. I guess I do know this couple after all…or at least, I know _one_ of them…in the biblical sense. Surely she must know that there are certain rules to be adhered to when getting married and one of those oh-so-important rules is that you don't invite your one-night stand to join the party.

Oh hell, why not? Balls to the rules. No point in being equated to being a James Dean wannabe if you're not ready to be a little bit rebellious every so often, is there?

…

What I didn't realise when I RSVPd to this practical joke of a wedding was that it's actually being held in my own personal hell; Stars Hollow. If you look really closely, you can see the faint chalk outline of a dead body outside Doose's Market. I dawdle for a few minutes, admiring my handiwork. I think there's still a couple of Wanted posters up in Doose's offering a $10 reward for me. Taylor always was a cheap git, doesn't look like much has changed.

My bridge certainly hasn't.

The wooden slats are cool against my legs as I sit down and study the calming movements of the water contemplatively. It's then that the angel and devil on my shoulders make their persuasive arguments…

_Maybe she'll be at home this weekend._ She'll be working. _She likes to spend time with her mother, maybe she'll be tired and take a break from work._ Then she'll be with Lorelai. _She could be sitting in the diner with a coffee cup right now._ Luke will look after her, she doesn't need to see me. _She misses you, you know she does, just like you miss her._ I've done enough damage already. _Then who's a little bit more gonna hurt?_ Rory. It'll hurt her.

My decision is made and my demons relent. I pick myself up and dust myself off. I can hear the music starting up, drifting on the breeze. It's time to make an appearance at this ridiculous wedding.

…

_"Bride or groom?"_

_"Um…bride, I guess."_

As I'm ushered to my seat, I spot Babette, Miss Patty and East Side Tilly. I sit down as quickly as I dare and slide down on the uncomfortable chair, hiding my face in the programme. But I'm too late, they've spotted me and the whispering begins. There's no way I could be anywhere else.

But then the whispering stops.

_"Bride or groom?"_

They're fascinated by something…or someone.

_"Um…groom, I guess."_

I turn at the last minute. I'm convinced that I know that voice all too well. As it happens, all I see is a glimpse of long red-brown hair and a knee-length blue dress but there's a smell that lingers in the air around me. It cuts deep inside my heart because it's the smell of the perfume that I spent every free second inhaling when I lived in this tiny town. _Her_ perfume. _Rory._

I shake myself free of the thought. Not here. Not now. I'm imagining things. I must be.

_"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"_


	12. Long Time, No See

**A/N: Yes, that's right, dudes and dudettes...*drumroll*...I'm back and this fic is officially off hiatus! To be absolutely honest with you, I know exactly where I'm going with it and I always have done, it's just that this chapter was really messing with my head because I could never find the right way to write it but, as you can see, it's done now so let the Lit-fest commence! **

**A/N Take Two: If you find time, please remember to press that purdy li'l button at the bottom of the page 'cause I'm a reviews whore and I'll take whatever praise/critism (delete as appropriate!) that you want to give me because I like to know what you lovely people think...Still not tempted? Sure? There might be a cookie in it for you...**

**...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................**

Long Time, No See

_Rory,_

_You probably don't remember but I never forgot._

_Please come. I can't promise alcohol on the scale of our first meeting but it will certainly be worth your while if that picture in your wallet is anything to go by ._

_Owen._

It's stuck to the back of an flamboyant wedding invitation, requesting me to attend the wedding of Gwen Jones and Owen Thorne. _Gwennie and Owen-mine and Jess' look-a-likes._ Since I wouldn't normally think that it's a good idea to invite your one-night stand to your wedding (it smacks of Logan, and Honor's bimbos, if I'm being perfectly honest), I'd decline, but something about the tone of Owen's note is making me think twice. It sounds like he and Gwennie are planning something...and that something involves a certain monosyllabic ex-diner boy. _Jess._

...

So here I am. Back in Stars Hollow. Back at home. I can't see him anywhere but I can just sense that he's around somewhere. He's got to be; I've built my hopes up too much for him to bring them crashing down around me. Far too much.

I sit down on the bench in the gazebo, overlooking the town where I grew up; the town where I laughed, cried, _loved._

It's then that my conscience begins its battle.

_Maybe he'll be at this wedding._ It's not his thing. _Maybe he's tired and feels like taking a break from Truncheon._ Then he won't come here. _He could be helping Luke in the diner right now._ Then Luke will look after him, he doesn't need to see me. _He misses you, you know he does, just like you miss him._ I've done enough damage already. _Then who's a little bit more gonna hurt?_ Jess. It'll hurt him.

Despite my inner mêlée-and my better judgement-I begin to walk towards the marquee on the Dragonfly's spacious grounds. I can hear the pomp and circumstance of the Wedding March drifting across on the air and dare to hope for a second that I might be too late. No such luck, though.

I walk in and immediately, Babette, Miss Patty and East Side Tilly stopped whispering, apparently fascinated by something which, surprise, surprise, turns out to be me.

I can't think what I've done to attract the attention of the town's most incurable gossips, but as I'm wondering this, I turn to the left and everything falls into place.

…

_"Don't I know you?"_ Part of me hates how easy it is to talk to him.

He turns to face me, his eyes half-closed, as if expecting to see something horrible. Shock is plain across his face and it makes me wonder why he's even here at all; until I remember what Gwennie told me about the picture on his fridge. Somehow, it made me feel less pathetic for showing them the picture of him in my wallet.

_"I think we met a while ago."_ His voice smothers me, wrapping me up in its warmth and love. It seems like nothing has changed when he smiles at me; that perfect crooked smile that I've dreamt about ever since I was seventeen. I suddenly come over all giggly, like a teenager again; he always had that effect on me.

The music starts up; Gwennie and Owen's first dance as a married couple. It's the perfect setting. Jess' hand outstretches to meet mine and he leads me onto the dance floor; the prom we never had. It feels so perfect to be held by him again; like nothing in the world could ever feel this wonderful again. I could stay like this forever but there's unfinished business between us that we can't ignore for much longer.

_"So…things between us didn't exactly end as they probably should have done…"_

It amazes me that he manages to broach the subject first, but then, I suppose, it just goes to show how much he's changed. For the better, of course.

_"Bit of an understatement, don't you think, Jess?"_

_"Huh. Yeah, I guess."_

_"Do you ever think that…nah, it's stupid."_ I know I shouldn't back down on this but I can't help but remember all the crap that we went through together and how it all ended so abruptly.

_"Oh come on, Rory, you're a Yale graduate, for god's sake…Nothing you say can possibly be stupid!"_ I wonder how much else he knows about my life since…_us._

_"Ok…Do you ever think that maybe, given the right timing, we could've worked out?"_ I don't know if I want his answer, but I know that I need it more than anything.

_"Every day."_

And suddenly, and without my meticulous pro/con lists, I'm kissing him and it's like nothing I've ever experienced before…well, when I say that, what I really mean is that it reminds me of petrol, and unlit cigarettes…but the nagging thought of Dean Forrester never even enters my mind. If I could think anything, that is. All I know is the feel of his lips desperately seeking mine, and the knowledge that this is only the start of a brand new beginning.

I should really remember to thank the Happy Couple…


	13. Dreaming of the Future

**Disclaimer: As I said in an earlier chapter, I don't own Howl...it belongs to the legend that was Allen Ginsberg.**

**A/N: So I kinda stole the idea for this chapter from one of my other Lit fics, _'Something Old, Blue and Borrowed'_ (not a shameless plug, honest!...although if you feel the need to read it, you know where to find it!) but I always loved the idea that Rory would carry her copy of Howl down the aisle, instead of a bouquet, just 'cause it represents Rory and Jess so perfectly...anyway, enough of my ramblings...enjoy!**

**...............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................  
**

Dreaming of the Future

_The whole scene is perfect. The ivory of her dress is a perfect contrast to the brilliantly intense blue of her eyes. Something new, something blue. The something old stems from our feeling for each other; she's carrying her old copy of Howl, instead of a bouquet. I suppose that counts for her something borrowed too, since it holds my seventeen-year-old thoughts within its fraying pages._

_I don't mind her borrowing my thoughts. They're hers now, just like the rest of me. Our whole future is mapped out in her beautiful smile; that perfect beam that I lose myself in every time I look at her. She is my future; and something tells me that she always has been._


End file.
